


wave goodbye to cares of the day

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Anxiety, M/M, Polyamory, fuck canon no murder attempt the hellfire totally didnt happen, gee aziraphale how come the almighty lets u have 2 boyfriends, theyre in love and i lov them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: aziraphale has a nightmare. fortunately, for his sake, he also has two boyfriends looking out for him
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 49





	wave goodbye to cares of the day

**Author's Note:**

> a/c/g is literally my fave ship rn i can and Will make all the content for it (also definitely canon divergence in a post armageddon setting. az isnt working for heaven anymore so like theres none of that Bad boss/worker power dynamic)

His heart's pounding. It's the first thing Aziraphale's aware of when he comes to. The only physical sensation he can focus on. Overcrowding everything else, flooding his senses in hot white adrenaline. 

The sickly, nausea-inducing flutter in his chest bordering on arrhythmia. Admittedly, considering how less important they are to celestial entities, their physical forms are often far more sensitive to the quips and quirks of everyday life. Human beings have their advantages over them, and short-term durability happens to fall in that category. A liberal dose of palpitations every now and then did little to affect the overall health of a functionally immortal (with exceptions, of course, terms and conditions apply) being.

Even so, it's still enough to get Aziraphale properly shaken up. He tries to steady his breathing, the wellness techniques Anathema had insisted he just had to know--for the sake of self care, after all, even angels have their needs--actually coming in handy. Three seconds in, four seconds hold, six seconds out. He's memorized the soothing pattern. And it helps, it really does, but something still isn't right. It's just not enough.

He can't remember the actual subject matter of his dream. His recollection falls short at hazy, half-smeared snapshots of whatever had gotten him so riled up. A set of vague, almost recognizable flashes of shame, of fear, of having something torn away from him. A gaping, pustulating wound, already infected with sour humiliation. A filthiness he can't scrub away. A stain sinking beneath his flesh, all the way down to blood and bone.

And Aziraphale, weary and fogged-over with sleep as he might be, doesn't have to chance a guess at what lurking terror his subconscious had latched onto.

So that's it, he thinks. Another nightmare about that. He's still fussing over the same old things. Such an old, pointless fear. Entirely ungrounded, and entirely ridiculously. But still persistent. Still terribly, terribly persistent.

Remembrance at least makes it a little easier to calm down. The security of reality slowly coming back to him. He presses his fingers to his pulse point, utterly relieved at finding the soft, familiar thrumming returned to its usual pace. One less thing to worry about, he muses. One less thing to keep him up all night--a debacle he's rather sorely trying to avoid. 

Technically he doesn't need sleep to function. He can get by just fine without it. But there's something so lovely, something so languid and serene about losing himself to such a comforting respite. To not have to think--or endure the endless burdens that come with such a capability.

Not to mention, there's always the added bonus of his lovers bundled up beside him. Nestled tight together, sharing a special kind of vulnerability in sync. It's a tremendously tender concept, and Aziraphale, hopeless romantic that he is, looks forward to it every evening.

"Angel, whus' going on. You okay?" 

Speak of the devil(s), Aziraphale hears as Crowley shuffles sluggishly into consciousness. His hand reaches out, cups over the bump of Aziraphale's knee visible through the quilts, and strokes there gently, rubbing back and forth. Aziraphale sighs at the affection, the pleasant warmth of Crowley's palm a suitable distraction from how positively awful his night's been.

Crowley tugs his arm out from underneath the blankets, presses a flurry of faint, delicate kisses to his inner wrist. It's a lazy, honey-sweet affair. The kind of easy, unrushed rhythm perfect for pushing Aziraphale further into a pleasantly drowsy stupor.

"'S nothing, dear. Just a bad dream, that's all." Aziraphale murmurs, eyelids hot and heavy, irresistibly tempted to fall shut once more.

"That's not nothing, angel. Don't be ridiculous. You know if you're in pain, I'll always, always--" Crowley pauses to shower Aziraphale in another litany of kisses, this time traced along the line of his pale blue veins. "--always be here to make it better, alright?"

And Aziraphale can't help but smile.

"Of course you will, my dear."

There's a rustling amongst the sheets. A thick, gravely groan sounds from the pillow Gabriel currently has his face buried five feet deep in. He jerks his head to the side,hand rubbing his eyes clear.

"What's happening? It's too damn early in the morning if you guys are trying to fuck again." he grouses, diving back down and pulling the pillow over his head.

"'Ziraphale had a nightmare, dipshit." Crowley bites back with an equally irritated fervor. "Be respectful."

As if on cue, his body hard-wired to react exactly as he always does in situations like this, Gabriel jolts up with enough force to shake the bed frame.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you wake me up? What happened in it? Are you still upset?" he rushes out, his spring-coiled surge of questions doing little to ease Aziraphale's still rattled nerves. Overenthusiastic and tactless as he often is, Gabriel's had more than his fair share of struggles with handling any complications relating to Aziraphale's poorly repressed emotional issues.

He means well, always means well--perhaps just a little too well. Efforts made in hopes of ensuring Aziraphale's comfort ended with rather contradictory results more frequently than Gabriel would prefer.

Fortunately, Crowley's always there to reel him in, set things straight, make sure everyone winds up perfectly content.

"Hush, go back to sleep. He's just fine now, okay? Give him some space and he'll be alright." Crowley reassures him, holding back a snicker when Gabriel flops down onto the mattress with a dissatisfied huff. 

The room's silent for a moment, disconcertingly quiet, and Gabriel's brow wrinkles as he wills his eyes shut. Five seconds more of nothing, the lack of noise creating its own sort of buzzing static sound.

Then, the blankets ruffling. A head and a hand on his chest, curls tickling his skin. And another set of fingers just barely ghosting over his shoulder. It's warm, soft, absolutely divine in the most blasphemous sense of the word.

Gabriel peeks an eye open, greeted by the sight of Aziraphale rolled over onto his side, an arm slung over Gabriel's torso. Mouth open ever so slightly, and fingers limp. He must have fallen back asleep, then. Thank the Almighty for that.

Crowley's wrapped around him too, curled protectively up against Aziraphale. Determined to keep him safe, even in his sleep. The room isn't silent anymore, replaced instead with nearly inaudible inhales and exhales of breath, peaceful to Gabriel all the same. His eyes close without resistance this time The pleasantly blurry, fuzzy feeling of an exhaustion finally satisfied kicking in, helping him drift off.

And Aziraphale, surrounded by shelter, guarded at either side, spends the rest of his night in a delightfully frightless sleep.


End file.
